“Yesterday evening she was displeasing,” said Tyrtaios, regretfully.
“Perhaps then,” said Kurik, “we should give her a taste of the lash.”
I feared I turned white.
Kurik then took out a copper tarsk, and dropped it into my cup.
“Master,” exclaimed Tyrtaios, “beware. I fear you have inadvertently deposited a full tarsk in the cup!”
“How do you know?” asked Kurik.
“The weight, the sound, Master,” said Tyrtaios.
“Remarkable,” said Kurik.
“Retrieve it, I beg of you,” said Tyrtaios.
“It shall remain where it is,” said Kurik, magnanimously.
“May I inquire the name of so thoughtful and generous a master?” asked Tyrtaios.
“Of course,” said Kurik, “I am Tenrik, of Siba.”
“Noble Master,” said Tyrtaios.
“Where did you buy your slave?” asked Kurik.
“In the market of Eamon, here in Brundisium,” said Tyrtaios. “She is a barbarian.”
“Barbarians make good slave girls,” said Kurik.
“I am told so,” said Tyrtaios.
“Take this one,” said Kurik. “Wherever she might be first seen, and however she might be dressed, one could see, at a single glance, that she should be a slave girl, indeed, that she is a slave girl.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” said Tyrtaios.
On Gor I was a slave girl. And on Gor what else could one such as I be? And I did not wish to be other than I was, a slave. I suspected I had been bred, through a thousand generations, to wear a master’s collar. Had I known on Earth what I had learned on Gor, I would have knelt and begged a collar.
But there were few masters, I feared, on my former world.
Who amongst them knows what a woman is, what she wants, and what are her needs?
“I wish you well, kind Master,” said Tyrtaios.
“I, too, wish you well, gentle Master,” said Kurik, turning away.
No sooner had Kurik vanished than I was pulled about by the stick and collar, and hastened, half dragged, back up the street.
“What a fool,” said Tyrtaios, delightedly, contemptuously, tearing the wrapped bandage from his face. I tried to keep up with him, half running, he now leading, the stick in his left hand, held behind him. “He did not even recognize you. My disguise was perfection. How could things proceed more smoothly? And consider the absurdity of the name, ‘Tenrik’, obviously reminiscent of his real name, ‘Kurik’! Could he not do better than that? And he alleges to be of Siba, he, of Victoria! Siba is another of the towns on the Vosk, like Victoria. Why could he not, at least, have pretended to be from somewhere else, away from the Vosk, Corcyrus, Helmutsport, Besnit, Bazi, Tor, anywhere apart from Victoria? What a fool, a fool!”
I fell, weeping, and, by the collar and stick, it turned on my neck, was yanked to my feet.
“He will be known as Tenrik of Siba,” said Tyrtaios. “I know his district. He will be known, here and there, by that name, surely at least by description, in some insula, at a cook shop, somewhere. I must not allow the trail to fade. I need now only maintain contact. The package, or shipment, may have already arrived. Or will soon arrive. This contingency, needing to make contact with the shipment, will keep him in place. It is at, or should come to, a southern pier, or warehouse. I am sure of that. He is here. I follow him, he leads me to the material, I dispose of him, acquiring his identity or credentials, and then claim the goods for myself, thence to be presented to my principal. All proceeds well.”
I could do little more than whimper, for the bit.
“You would have warned him, I sensed that,” said Tyrtaios.
I whimpered desperately, twice.
“Lying slave,” he said. “I suppose I should kill you, say, bind you, and cast you to the harbor sharks, but a dead slave is worthless. You have been of use. I am grateful. You have identified Kurik of Victoria for me. Too, you should be worth most of a silver tarsk, perhaps more.”
We were now on the higher streets.
“Still,” said Tyrtaios. “You tried to warn the quarry. It is not your fault he was too stupid to understand. And you lied.”
I whimpered, but not in response to signals, rather from misery. I did not attempt to deceive him further.
“Here!” said Tyrtaios, stopping by a public slave ring, one with its chain, collar, and key.
I was drawn rudely to the ring, by the arm.
“Kneel here,” he said, “lying slut.”
I knelt. He removed the stick and collar from my neck and cast it aside. “We no longer need this,” he said. “It has served its purpose.” I was still, of course, bitted, and braceleted. He then took the cup on its cord from about my neck and poured the coins into his wallet. “A coin is a coin,” he said. “Small emoluments are not to be neglected, however humble their origin. And we would not wish the modest proceeds of our work to be made away with, would we, while you wait here, so patiently?” Then he flung the cup away, it rolling and clattering on the stones. The ring collar was then snapped about my throat. The ring itself was about a yard high. The chain, running between the ring and the collar, was about a foot in length. He then removed the key from its hook by the ring. The key is numbered, and the number matches the number on the plate to which the ring is attached. He put the key in his wallet.
“I will ascertain, as I can,” he said, “his place of residence, and then, by arrangements, employ others to observe him. Copper tarsks, in that district, will be sufficient for such a purpose. I will frequently be in contact with these others. Indeed, I will take up quarters from which it will be convenient to keep our friend under surveillance. He will not recognize me for I have removed the bandage that muchly concealed my face. Was it not like a mask? When he moves to the piers or warehouses I shall be nearby.”
I shook my head, protestingly, pleadingly. The chain shook, rattling on the ring.
“I shall return for you shortly, or surely before morning,” he said. “You will be returned to the court. My work may take a day or two, or perhaps more. During that time we are unlikely to see one another.”
I whimpered, helplessly.
I squirmed.
“Trust,” he said, “that my mission is successful, for if Kurik of Victoria should survive, and learn you betrayed him, as you did, and very nicely, it would not be well to fall into his hands.”
I looked up at him.
“Not at all,” he said. He then turned about and retraced his steps, once more downward, toward the pier district.
I wept.
I had betrayed Kurik of Victoria.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I leaned against the wall to which, by the ring, I was chained. I was on my knees, as I had been placed. My knees were sore, from the stones. I could not lie down, given the collar, and the length of the ring chain. I was high above the pier district. This, I take it, was fortunate. Men had occasionally glanced at me, as they passed, but I was neither accosted nor molested. It was not unusual, of course, to see a slave chained at a public ring. That is what such rings are for. I was grateful I had not been secured closer to the piers. Bitted and back-braceleted, and slave, would one not prove delicious sport for the disorderly and unruly? Happily no free women passed the ring. A slave, I lived in terror of free women. It would be difficult to make clear to those unfamiliar with the culture the animosity with which the slave is viewed by the free woman. Occasionally they will gratuitously, and fiercely, beat an unattended slave fastened at a public ring. They are pleased to take out their hatred and rage on a helpless, vulnerable slave. She is made to stand proxy for a thousand collar sisters hitherto resented and loathed. I had often looked up, above my head, to the hook on the wall where the collar key had hung. Its number, as noted, corresponded to the number on the plate to which t
he ring was fastened. I had seen my master, Tyrtaios, of the black caste, deposit it in his wallet. I had not noted the number, nor, as I was illiterate, could I have read it, had I noted it. On the other hand, I knew it was likely to be one in a sequence, given that it was numbered. Most slave rings, of course, as far as I know, are not numbered, even in Brundisium. I had never, for example, seen one in Ar that bore a number, and such rings, in Ar, are quite common, particularly in commercial districts.
Eventually night fell.
I remained alone, at the ring.
The sky was overcast, but occasionally the light of the white moon, the clouds parted, broke through, illuminating the street and adjoining buildings.
Then it was dark, again.
I heard the bar for the eighteenth Ahn.
From what my master had said, I might not be fetched before morning.
I grew hungry, and I was cold.
Two men were approaching. One carried a lantern. I kept my head down. The light fell on me. Then they moved away. They were guardsmen.
Later I heard the bar for the nineteenth Ahn.
Shortly thereafter I heard more footsteps, these climbing, coming from the pier district.
My senses sprang alert. I was afraid. I peered into the darkness.
Bitted, I could do no more than whimper.
I could not see the form in the darkness, but I knew it was there.
I whimpered, again.
“Face away,” he said.
I turned away.
“Nadu,” he snapped, and I assumed position, as well as I could, being back braceleted. I knelt back on my heels, my body tall, my back straight, my head up, my knees spread. I could not place the palms of my hands down on my thighs, for the restraints.
“You respond nicely,” he said. “I see you have had some training.”
I whimpered, muchly distressed.
“Head down,” he said.
I lowered my head, humbly.
I felt hands at the back of my neck, and the bit snaps were released, and the bit was pressed forward, and then pulled from my mouth.
It was glorious to be free of that detestable impediment! It seemed I could still feel the metal back between my teeth, the pressure at the sides of my mouth.
The device was then, apparently, thrust into a satchel, or pouch, probably suspended across the body.
“I did not mean to betray you!” I whispered.
I could not but recognize the voice of my first master, Kurik, of Victoria.
“Did you request permission to speak?” he inquired.
“Forgive me, Master!” I said. “May I speak? I supplicate you! I plead to speak!”
“If you wish,” he said.
“Beware!” I said. “My master is not blind. The bandage he wore is a hoax! His sight is as keen as that of the tarn! He is as dangerous as the larl in rutting time. He hunts you. He is of the black caste!”
“I thought,” said he, “the black caste might be involved. They prove to be excellent agents, well worth their pay.”
“Master!” I protested.
“Surely one must admire them,” he said.
“He is armed,” I said. “He is dangerous! He follows you, to discern some object, an object to which he expects to be led. Then he intends to slay you, secure your authorization or credential, and thus obtain the object.”
“What object?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“A bold plan,” he said, “one worthy of the black caste—or others.”
“He may return, momentarily,” I said. “Flee! Make away!”
“You expect his return, I take it, anon?” he said.
“At any moment,” I said. “Do not dally! Flee! Make away! He is a killer. He knows you!”
“How could he know me?” asked Kurik.
“From before, from information, from descriptions, somehow,” I said.
“But not by sight,” he said.
“No,” I said, “not until today.”
“I see,” he said.
“I identified you,” I said.
“I see,” he said.
“I was tricked,” I said. “I could not help myself!”
“The guide stick,” he said.
“He seeks you,” I said. “He intends you harm, death. Do not loiter here! Run! He is of the dark caste! You are hunted! Neither dismiss nor ignore this threat! You are not dealing with an ordinary man! He is of the dark caste! He is one who has ascended the nine steps of blood.”
He was crouching near me, behind me. He reached about me, and unhooked the belly belt. The two lengths of open chain then fell behind me.
“Master!” I wept. “Run, I beg of you!”
I felt a small key inserted into one of my bracelets, and then the other. My wrists were freed.
I rubbed my wrists, bewildered.
“How is it you have the key to the bracelets?” I said.
The belly chain and the bracelets were then deposited, as had been the slave bit, in some sack, or container, which proved to be an across-the-body satchel.
I had not been given permission to turn about.
At that moment the clouds parted, again, and the light of the white moon fell on the stones before me.
“Master?” I said.
I felt a key thrust into the collar lock, and, a moment later, the collar, opened, fell back against the wall, dangling from the ring. A bit later Kurik stood, and replaced the key on its hook.
“You have the key to the lock,” I said, frightened.
“The number,” he said, “made it easy to locate you.”
“You killed my master, Tyrtaios!” I said.
“So that is his name,” he said.
“You know it?” I said.
“Only now,” he said.
“You slew him,” I said.
“I am not an Assassin,” he said.
“He will resume his hunt,” I said.
“It is not he whom I fear,” he said. “It is the others.”
“What others?” I said.
“The beasts,” he said.
“What beasts?” I said.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Cold?”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Then,” he said, “we shall patronize some tavern, until the nineteenth Ahn, tomorrow evening.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“The ‘object’, as you called it,” he said, “is to be received at the twentieth Ahn tomorrow, at the house of Flavius Minor, and is to be claimed precisely at the first Ahn.”
“Precisely?” I said.
“That is the credential,” he said.
“No paper, no document, no divided coin, no ostrakon?” I said.
“Such might be stolen,” he said.
“Then,” I said, “how could Tyrtaios, my master, assume your identity?”
“It would be difficult to do, would it not?” he said.
“Master is wise,” I said.
“Or those in whose cause I labor,” he said.
“You will take me to a tavern?” I said.
“Surely you do not think I am going to leave you here, do you, behind me, to inform on me, to be interrogated,” he said.
“I would not inform on you,” I said.
“Perhaps you have never heard a slave girl shriek,” he said, “the splinters beneath her nails.”
“I have never been in a tavern,” I said.
“You may find the experience instructive,” he said.
“Might I not flee from the tavern, and betray you?” I asked.
“I do not think you could manage that,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is a Gorean t
avern,” he said.
Chapter Thirty
He thrust me through the small opening, and then turned to buckle shut the leather curtain.
He then turned, and, sitting cross-legged, faced me. I knelt. Slaves are not permitted to sit cross-legged. Too, he was a free male. It was appropriate then that I, a slave, should kneel, and be in a position of suitable subservience and submission, before a free person. The enclosure was not large, but it was large enough, and high-ceilinged enough, for a full-grown man to stand upright within it, and, if he wished, wield a whip. It was lit by a single tharlarion-oil lamp, set in a niche, to the left of the opening, as one would enter, now to my right. There were cushions about. The floor was carpeted with deep, lush furs. The floor itself, where I could see it, was of dark, varnished wood.
“What manner of place is this?” I asked.
“Get your clothes off,” he said, “completely.”
“One garment I cannot remove,” I said. “It is locked on my neck.”
“Appropriately so,” he said.
I slipped from the tunic, and was then before him, clad only in my collar.
I had dared to be impertinent. I knelt before him, insolently, naked. I was angry. He was not claiming me. Again I was nothing to him. He was merely holding me, that I might not compromise his plans, that I might not reveal a time, a place, an identity. Had he not once told me I would not be kept, had he not sold me, had he not rid himself of me? Now it seemed he must keep me, for a time.
How unfortunate for him!
Poor, inconvenienced master!
I was furious, but, too, I knew I was at his mercy, completely. There was a collar on my neck.
We had entered the tavern but shortly before. At the door he had put his hand in my hair and bent me over, holding my head at his right hip. Then, I in leading position, he had entered the tavern, I stumbling helplessly beside him, so conducted, my hands on his wrist. I glimpsed the low tables, the hanging lamps, the fellows at the tables, cross-legged, conversing, drinking, gaming. Two were playing kaissa, which game I recognized, but did not understand. Beside the table a slave lay, bound, hand and foot. She was doubtless a paga girl. I saw other paga girls about, bearing goblets, replenishing goblets at the vat, serving paga, fetching viands. How sensuous they were, I thought. Doubtless they were purchased with such things in mind. How could a man keep his hands from them? Too, they were cheap; they would go with the price of a drink. I saw two of these regard me, curiously. How dared they? Did they think I was being brought to the tavern as a new paga girl? Did they think I was to be put in so tiny and thin a tunic, to be so helplessly, so shamelessly, displayed before a master’s patrons? But then I realized I could be sold to such an establishment, for just such a purpose. Then I, too, would be a paga girl! How far I was from my former world, the office, my well-chosen, fashionable garments!
Plunder of Gor Page 31
